His Fathers Soldier
by likethewolf
Summary: Dean knows his place in their little family...and he'd do anything to protect Sams innocence.WARNING! This contains wincest of a sort and noncon. It's angsty, dark and sad. Song Godspeed by The Dixie Chicks.


It was the crying that finally got to him. From where he lay in the cramped motel bed he could hear his father crying in the room next door, his muffled sobs leaking through the paper-thin wall in between. He missed their mother. And although Dean knew what would happen he still rose, kicking the sweaty sheets aside and pulled on his jeans, because he loved his father and felt he was duty-bound to comfort him as best he could. When Sammy joked that he had taken on his mother's role in the family it made him wince-he didn't know how right he was. All Deans decisions, all his wants and desires centred on making his father happy.

It was how he had been raised.

He crept barefoot out of the room, careful not to wake his little brother, stepping over the line of salt at the door and out into the hot, sticky Alabama night. As always a voice in his head was screaming at him to turn and run as fast as he could but, as always, it was quickly smothered by his sense of duty. This was simply something he had to do. He was twenty years old, old enough now to just walk away, and yet he'd been so conditioned that it would have been easier to walk to the moon. He knocked the door to his fathers' room and waited.

The door swung open slowly to reveal his father wearing his sleepwear, an old navy T-shirt and boxer shorts. His eyes were red, his weathered cheeks damp. Without a word he stepped aside to let him enter before slamming the door firmly shut behind him.

"You O.K Dad?" He asked softly as John flopped down onto the bed, covering his face with his hands.

"Fine Dean. I'm just fine." His voice caught on the words.

"Really? 'Cause you look like shit."

His father sighed. "I-I just miss your mother I guess." He ran a calloused hand through his grey hair.

"I know." And he knelt and kissed him, his lips brushing John's cheek. "We all do."

"Dean..." There was a warning in his fathers' voice that he knew better than to listen to. His father was weak. He never was able to resist temptation. Dean rose once more to his feet and stood in front of him, clad in just his jeans and underwear.

"It's O.K if you want to...y'know."

John looked him up and down, taking in his lean, muscular torso, his broad shoulders, and his honeyed skin. Dean fancied he could see that, just for a moment, he saw the hunger flash in his eyes.

"Jesus Dean! No. We can't..." He turned away in disgust, a disgust Dean knew was becoming increasingly fake as the minutes ticked by.

"I don't mind dad..."

"No Dean! Stop it!"

He ignored his fathers' protestations, knowing better than to take them seriously, a mistake he'd made only once, when he was Sam's age, and didn't ever want to make again. They were meaningless, nothing but a disclaimer for his father. He traced his fingers down his taut stomach and rested them on the waistband of his jeans before shooting his father a look which said "_use me, take comfort in me."_ His father glared back, waiting for him to deliver his final line, the line that had been drummed into him since he was fifteen years old.

"It's O.K. I want to." As the words left his lips his heart began to pound and he felt a familiar confusing stirring between his legs. His father nodded, silently praising him for his performance, his obedience.

"Come here." He crooked his finger. Dean did as he was told and his father slowly undid his flies before reaching inside the slit in his boxers and taking hold of the rapidly swelling column of flesh, causing him to shake, his breath to come in anxious pants.

"Are you hard for me already boy?" His father smiled up at him, a self-satisfied, almost predatory smile, all traces of grief gone from his face.

"Y-yes sir." He mumbled and his cheeks flushed with shame as desire welled up within him because no matter how many women he'd fucked his body would always respond to Johns touch. After all, he was the first person ever to make Dean writhe, scream, buck with pleasure, no matter how much his mind had fought it. John chuckled and took hold of his jeans and boxers, sliding them down over his narrow hips to reveal his erect, weeping cock. He dropped slowly to his knees and nuzzled the soft dark hair at its base, before taking it in his mouth and running his tongue slowly, teasing down the shaft and over the sensitive tip. Dean gasped with pleasure, his head beginning to spin. He couldn't stop the whimper of disappointment from leaving his lips when his father pulled away.

"Don't worry Dean," He said, getting to his feet. "You'll get your turn. Now...get on the bed...on your hands and knees. That's an order."

"Yes Sir." He stepped out of his jeans and climbed onto the bed, assuming the position his father had requested. As John circled the bed, admiring him from every angle as he crouched naked and shivering with fear and desire, he kept his gaze on the mattress below him, his cheeks burning with humiliation at his own vulnerability. His trembling grew more violent as John traced a cold finger from the base of his neck down to his soft, pink opening. The sharp slap to the inside of his left thigh made him jump.

"Spread your legs wider."

He did so, moving awkwardly on the bed, and was rewarded when John snaked a hand between his legs from behind, caressing him until he moaned out loud.

"Not yet." The hand pulled away and he heard his father spitting in his hands. He flinched as he felt two slick fingers pressing against his hole. This was the part he hated, being penetrated, spread open. He gasped in pain as John slid the fingers inside, scissoring them inside him, working him open.

"Shhh baby. Enjoy it."

He bit his lip, fighting back tears. One of his fathers' fingers brushed against that special spot inside him and he jerked involuntarily, his cock swelling even more as he inwardly cursed his body for being so responsive. The bed-springs creaked as John climbed up onto the bed and knelt behind him, resting his big hands on Dean's hips. He turned to look over his shoulder and was rewarded with a sharp crack across the ass.

"Eyes down Dean."

"Yes Sir." It was the same every time his father fucked him. He was never allowed to look him in the eye, he always had to lower his gaze, or close his eyes...or wear a blindfold. He shuddered at the memories. He hated the blindfold.

John withdrew his fingers with a squelch. And suddenly the fear inside him seemed to brim over and he wanted to beg, to plead, to offer to take him in his mouth instead...and then it was too late. John slid his cock deep inside him, filling him completely, stretching him painfully. He bit down hard on his lower lip to keep from crying out as a single tear dripped down his chin.

"Jesus! You're so tight." John shifted himself until he reached that spot inside Dean that made him shudder with longing. Then he slowly, teasingly, began to thrust, his fingers digging into Deans hip-bones. With every stroke Dean felt his desire build until every inch of his body was shaking, his skin slick with hot, pungent sweat, his groans matching the pants of his father behind him. And then Johns hand snaked once more between his thighs and his fist closed tightly around his cock and began stroking. And he was pinned, impaled and fisted at the same time, trapped between two kinds of pleasure and pain, torn between trying to escape and savouring every moment.

_Oh God, oh God, oh God..._

His orgasm tore through him and his head snapped back, his mouth opened to scream...quick as lightening his father clamped a hand tightly over his mouth, muffling his cry of ecstasy.

"Shut up!" A voice hissed in his ear. "You don't want Sammy to hear what we're doing, do you?"

He shook his head. The hand stayed where it was as John wrapped an arm strong as steel around his stomach and resumed thrusting harder as his excitement began to peak. He came with a grunt, emptying his hot, stinging seed into Deans body. Deans arms gave way beneath him and they fell forward onto the mattress exhausted, before rolling onto their backs and lying still, panting.

"So...do you feel better?" Dean gasped. His father turned to smile at him and nodded, pulling him close in a big bear-hug and kissing him deeply. He liked this part-when it was all over and they were exhausted and spent. During this time his father was always kind to him.

"Much better. You're a good son Dean."

He smiled back, swelling with pride at the approval. He laid his head on his fathers' chest as John ran a big hand through his golden brown hair.

"It's alright, what we do." His father whispered. "It's not wrong. You and me Dean, we're soldiers. And I'm your captain. Soldiers do this sometimes. Always have. Did you know that in Ancient Greece Alexander the Great slept with his commander Hepheastion?"

"No." He was only half-listening. Now that the high of his orgasm had faded he was sore, confused and ashamed. Part of him wanted to sob like a child.

"He did. Soldiers sometimes need someone like them, someone who gets their problems in a way a woman can't, y'know?"

"Yeah." Of course Den had stopped believing this bullshit years ago. He knew it was just a way for his father to justify himself. And also a means of convincing him that it O.K for his own father to have sex with him. He knew it was wrong...but it made John happy. And it made him proud of Dean.

He waited until John was asleep before sliding out from under the covers. His thighs and stomach were splattered with his own sticky come and he could feel his fathers still warm inside him, mixing with the blood and oozing slowly between his cheeks and down the backs of his legs. For a moment he wondered what his mother would think if she saw him like that, standing naked and shivering, sullied and used, in a damp, filthy motel room. And for a moment he wanted her so much that his grief winded him. But no, better her dead than her ever seeing him like this. He crossed to the bathroom, wet some toilet paper under the tap and used it to clean himself up as best he could before putting his jeans back on and creeping silently back to the other room.

Sam slept soundly, oblivious to the goings on next door and he stared down at him, suddenly struck by his innocence, and by the love that swelled in his chest at the sight of him. Little Sammy, just turned sixteen, lay on his side hugging a pillow to his chest, his long black eyelashes fluttering like butterflies wings at some dream. His soft cheek was criss-crossed with creases from the sheets and his thick, floppy brown fringe had fallen into his face. Dean slipped carefully into the bed beside him, seeking comfort in his soft, musky smell, the warmth of his body. He reached to gently brush Sam's hair out of his eyes and he smiled in his sleep, such a beautiful, innocent smile, so beautiful of contentment.

Suddenly a picture filled his mind's eye...Sammy-naked and blindfolded. On his hands and knees in some dingy motel room, his body shaking as big hands, calloused and weathered, caressed his cheeks, eased them apart...

"Shhh Sam, it's O.K. I'll make it feel good for you." Their fathers' voice.

He shook his head violently, trying to dislodge the horrific image. There was no way he was ever going to let that happen to the brother he loved more than the waking world. Sam stirred in his sleep, wrinkling his forehead and Dean stroked his back soothingly. Without quite knowing why he began singing a song his mother used to sing to Sammy in his crib, sitting in the rocking chair beside it with Dean in her lap.

_"Dragon tales and the water is wild,_

_Pirates sale and lost boys fly,_

_Fish bite moonbeams every night_

_And I love you._

_Godspeed little man,_

_Sweet dreams little man._

_My love will fly to you each night on __angels'__ wings._

_God bless mommy and matchbox cars_

_God bless dad and thanks for the stars_

_God hears 'Amen' wherever we are_

_And I love you._

_Godspeed little man._

_Sweet dreams little man._

_My love will fly to you each night on angels' wings._

Dean knew he didn't have a singing voice that should be inflicted on anyone but he was still pleased when his singing triggered another beautiful smile, showing Sams' dimples. Maybe Sam remembered the song? He wondered if their mother, wherever she was, was watching them right now. He'd always said he didn't believe in heaven, never told anyone it was because of his mother. Because if there was and she was there then God was unfair...he needed her more. He wished she could see Sammy now, could see how smart and handsome and kind he was, everything she'd wanted him to be. Could see how Dean protected him.

Dean would be the first to admit he didn't know much but what he did know was the role he played in their little family. He was their fathers' right-hand man, his support, his comfort. And he was Sams protector, the one person that stood between him and all the evil in the world. And it was for this reason, to protect Sam innocence, that he was content to let himself be his fathers' soldier.


End file.
